the ghost of unbroken love
by Emmel1118
Summary: Becky's one messed up girl, isn't she? - one-shot, Becky-centric.
_the ghost of unbroken love_

 _..._

 _(gone, baby, gone)_

A little kid, six years old.

"Where's daddy?" she asks.

"Gone," is the snapped reply, cider sloshing the bottle.

"Where's daddy?" she asks again.

"Becks, d'you listen? He's gone." Another gesture with the bottle, wild in the cool summer air.

She's six. She doesn't get it.

"Where's daddy?"

"Jesus Christ, Becks - what don't you get? Your daddy don't care enough."

A pause. The little kid blinks. The bottle gets that bit emptier.

"He's gone, baby - gone."

...

 _(smoke and mirrors, booze and smiles)_

"Becky? Come here will you, love."

If she's learnt one thing, it's when her mother is trying desperately not to slur her words.

"Becky, love?"

She keeps her head down, tries to ignore her, pulls the sleeves her of tatty school uniform over her hands and holds them to her ears.

"There you are, kid," her mother says, stumbling into the room, her eyes glazed, a lopsided smile on her face. Then there's someone else - a man, the same lopsided grin on his face, and her stomach lurches.

"Mum - who is he?"

"Oh, Becks, you're gonna love 'im."

She looks up, meets the unfocused gaze of this interloper in her home.

"This is Brian. He's gonna be your dad."

She knows then he never will be and that she'll never love him, and time - well, time proves her right.

...

 _(shifts and pitches, rolling waves)_

"Becky!"

She slopes in, and her eyes survey the room quickly.

"Guess what, Becks?"

She shakes her head.

He's there, sitting next to her mum at the kitchen table, feet up, but she doesn't look at him. She doesn't want to.

"You're going to be a big sister, you are Becks."

She doesn't move, stays staring at her feet.

"What if I don't want a sister?"

"Well, you don't get a say, you ungrateful little-"

"Brian!"

"What?" he says, but Becky's not listening, not anymore. Her sleeves are pushed up and she's pushed her hands over her ears, but neither of them notices, because there's a bottle on the table, and they're too busy yelling at each other.

...

 _(protector, broken)_

"Becks, can you check on our Kylie? I'm busy."

How many times has she heard that?

She creeps into the bedroom. The baby's still asleep. Becky reaches out a hand, and the little fingers reach out, curl around hers.

She slides down the wall, so that she leaning against it, the plaster cool on her back.

"It's alright, Kylie," she says, trying to drown out the yelling from the other room.

"They get like this sometimes, but it's alright really."

A bang, then a scream, following by words that the walls can't hide.

"Don't listen, Kylie. They just get angry sometimes. It's alright really."

Another crash, more yelling.

"It's gets better, promise. And even if it don't, sis, I'm here for y'. I'm always here for y'."

...

 _(dying on a vine)_

"Why does Becky get an ice cream? I wan' an ice cream, dad."

"Stop whining, Kylie. Becky gets an ice cream 'cause I said so. Come here, Becky."

A hand, reached out, and Becky just looks at him.

"Come on, Becks."

A glare, one that tells her she better take his hand or else.

She reaches out, takes his hand, stomach lurching all, all over again.

...

 _(certain private conversations in the dark)_

"It'll be our little secret, alright, Becks?"

(she's just a little kid)

"You're not my dad!"

(a purple riot, unable to be hidden)

"You can't tell you mum, right, Becks?"

(oh, what would be the point anyway?)

"I hate 'im, Mum. I hate 'im!"

(and by god she does)

"You're my special little girl, right, Becks?"

(she wants to scream, she wants to cry, but she doesn't)

"I'm going, alright, mum?"

(she never got an answer, did she?)

"You're not my fucking dad. I bloody hate you."

(the door slams behind her and she wonders if she can leave that little girl behind...)

One foot, then the other. She has to go.

...

 _(a requiem for the (no so) dearly departed)_

She's the only one there.

She didn't tell Kylie. She doesn't even know where she is, let alone know the woman she has become.

Guilt eats up inside, as the vicar says some words that don't really mean a thing.

He doesn't show his face. Of that she's glad, at least. He haunts her dreams even now.

...

 _(shatter like glass, empty hearts)_

She thinks about Kylie, sometimes.

About the hell hole she left behind.

About her entire life since then has been about getting as far away as possible from there, and the memories wake her up in the night, screaming.

About how when anyone touches her she flinches.

About how she should have taken that kid and run.

About she left that kid to god knows what.

About how she's never going to be able to escape it.

...

 _(oblivion comes in a pint glass)_

She drinks, because that's what she knows. She is her mother's daughter after all.

She drinks because it drives away her demons.

She drinks because, for a little while, her mind is so obliterated that it doesn't _hurt._

She wonders if her mother drunk for the same reason.

...

 _(carry on, little girl)_

She runs.

She's spent her whole life running.

All she wants is to find somewhere to run to.

Maybe she will, maybe she will.

...

 ** _a/n The title is from Silhouettes by Sleeping at Last._**


End file.
